Impossible
by MissBellamy
Summary: Set in the long stretch of time between Season 2 Episode 6 and the Christmas episode. In the wake of Superhoodie's death, Alisha must get to know the Simon she is destined to fall for.
1. Chapter 1

**Impossible**

Chapter 1

She can't get it out of her head, no matter how many times she tries.

Those ice blue eyes, leveling her in a steady gaze, full of secrets. Secrets about _her_. About them. Their future together that he has already had and she doesn't think ever could be.

Remembering the way he touched her face made her throat constrict painfully. Her skin was starved for contact, and that impossibly gentle touch with that impossibly secretive gaze and his impossibly sexy smirk had all overwhelmed her, because that's exactly what he was: impossible.

And now that he was nothing but a memory, blackened and charred on the floor of a warehouse where her world imploded, she didn't think it was possible that he had been real. He must've been a hallucination her pathetically horny, lonely mind had invented as her escape.

_But God, what an escape_. A few tears slipped down her nose as she closed her eyes, remembering the few magical nights she got to spend tangled up in sheets with him, surrounded by his smell and his warm, impossibly pale skin, listening to his breaths and his whispered words. Even future him was so sparing with words; the few times he uttered her name during intimate moments had felt like an exultation of devotion so deep she found herself believing in this love he shared with her, suddenly saw that possibility that both the present and future him would see her so completely and love her so dearly that he _had_ to come back and save her life. But when she looked at present him, in his garish orange jumpsuit buttoned up to his Adam's apple and his hair combed to the side without a strand out of place and his guarded stare, all she feels then is the immense, crushing weight of impossibility.

And so she sits outside the community center, bag of litter next to the bench where she sits with her knees drawn up against her chest, remembering. Barely aware of the present when her thoughts are so consumed with the devastating past and the unimaginable future.

"Ehm –" A small noise to her left. Her head jerks in that direction, and disappointment and distress hit her like a bus when she sees him.

"A-are you okay?" he stutters. She knows she should feel warmed by his concern, but she just feels cold.

"Fine."

He takes a few hesitant steps closer, wide-eyed as a deer.

"You look sad." No stutter this time. She can't think of a thing to say.

"For the last week or so, you've been quiet. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay." The careful attention he pays to everything is so disarming, she worries she'll never be able to keep the secret it is her burden alone to keep.

"I'm worried, yeah? About what will happen to us when we're done this shit community service. Whether I like it or not, you fucks are my friends now, and at least these past few weeks I knew where I had to be everyday and who I was to be with. Now, what are we going to do? Once we're back in the real world?" she blurts out quite a convincing, and in fact quite true, explanation without realizing where she was going with it.

He seems to consider it carefully, not saying anything at first.

"We fucks will still be your friends." He finally says.

She doesn't look at him; it takes her a moment to understand he's teasing her. When she looks up his eyes are mirthful and his mouth twitches. She actually smiles, and while its by no means a grin or even a worthy response to his jest it still makes her feel just a bit lighter.

Two nights later their little band of delinquents is holed up in the corner of a crowded pub, on their second round of drinks. She had joined the outing reluctantly, but thought any way to occupy her time was probably healthier than standing in his former lair, staring at his collection of snapshots, running her hands over his weights and his very few sets of clothes, eventually crushing one of his shirts to her face and breathing in his scent deeply, weeping and finally passing out on the bed in which he had made love to her. Anything would be better for her emotional state than that, right? Except that her new favorite hobby was watching his present self while he wasn't looking, torturing herself as she attempted to catch him doing something she would associate with his future version, thinking about that girl Jessica and wondering perversely if he had realized yet all of the dangerous, wonderful things he could do with that mouth and those long-fingered hands. She shuddered and attempted to return her attention to the group conversation.

"So honestly tell us, you beautiful little boy, when you were finished giving that psycho daddy's girl the best 15 seconds of her existence, did you sneak yourself just a teensy little whiff at her knickers?" Nathan wheedled. _Oh for fuck's sake_, she thought to herself.

Simon fixed Nathan with a dark look. "For about the 800th time, I do not sniff girls' panties."

She knew it would do nothing but hurt her, but she allowed her thoughts to stray to the memories she tried to keep locked away in the back of her mind.

The reverence in his eyes as he slipped her shirt over her head and memorized the curves of her body…

"Are you still seeing Jessica?" Curtis asked. Simon seemed pleasantly surprised at being the center of attention. She wanted more than anything to change the subject, but realized she almost as strongly wanted Simon to bathe in his moment of silly pride and camaraderie with his friends. He deserved it.

His fingers smoothly, deftly, confidently slid her panties down her thighs. His eyes never left hers. She was nervous, he was sure…

"And what he really means is, are you two crazy kids still fucking like jackrabbits? Humping like horny toads? Shaggin' like –" Kelly cut Nathan off abruptly with a smack upside the head.

He gently urged her knees apart, pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. His fingers grazed her hips and suddenly she could feel his warm breath tantalizing an incredibly sensitive area…

"Actually, she finished with me. Said it was too complicated, with her dad being put away." She heard the disappointment in his voice, the collective regretful grumble from the group in his defense.

She remembered with a sudden, intense clarity how it felt when he slipped inside her, how he absorbed her soft moans by caressing her mouth with his, how she wrapped her legs around his waist and he controlled her hips with one hand, his other arm flexed as he used it to hold himself over her, his hair no longer neat but his whole body caught in the throes of complete abandon…

She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat that she hoped no one else at the table could hear as she abruptly pushed the thoughts away. I'm going to lose my mind like this. She jumped up suddenly under the pretense of getting another round of drinks, practically sprinting away from the table and Simon and his damnably piercing blue eyes.

When she made it to the bar she ordered a round of lagers and two shots of tequila to calm her forceful nerves. She slammed down the first tequila shot without a second thought, wincing as it burned her throat, thankful as it burned away the sob she was holding in.

The second tequila shot made her feel less like her molecules were bursting apart, and more like they were pleasantly melting away so she could feel nothing. She attempted to grab the four pints the bartender had set in front of her and nearly jumped out of her skin again when she turned to see Simon standing right behind her. One of the pints slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.

"Fuck!" she cried, setting the other glasses down to pick up the broken one.

"I'm s-sorry, I thought I'd help you carry them back – It's my fault, don't touch the-" She cut off his hesitant rambling when she bent down to collect the glass and immediately slashed her palm on a jagged shard, again cursing, "Shit!" Suddenly she was bleeding everywhere and the sight mixed with the tequila and lagers were making her light-headed and she turned pale. Simon grabbed the bartender's rag from the bar and quickly wrapped it around her hand, carefully avoiding any contact with bare skin. "Come with me." He said softly, taking her wrapped hand gently to lead her to the bathroom.

He waffled for a second when they reached the bathroom, but quickly decided to lead her into the ladies' loo rather than have to apologize for the smell of urine that always accompanied his own gender's water closet. Very, very gently, he unwrapped her hand and turned on the cold tap. "Run your hand under the water while I go get you a plaster."

She could only nod at him, confused and grateful in equal measure.

When he disappeared she caught sight of herself in the mirror, a bit green around the mouth, eyes wide and uncomprehending, beads of sweat on her hairline. I look disgusting. She used her uncut hand to splash a bit of water on her face, closed her eyes for a second to try to regain some kind of composure. She was so nervous to be around him. The alcohol in her system made her feel loose and unconnected and like she needed to hold on to something to keep from being swept away by a rushing tide; she settled for grabbing the sink as firmly as her drunken limbs could as Simon returned with the bandage.

He turned off the tap and gestured for her to put her hand palm up on the edge of the sink. She obliged and he pressed the bandage down against her hand, again so impossibly careful not to touch her skin, though in this second she wished more than anything that he would. His fingers lingered gently on the plaster, she could feel the warmth of his hand through it. Their eyes met.

"I don't think you'll bleed to death." He said, mostly to break the silence.

"Thanks."

Simon, unused to someone else being the quiet party, gestured toward the door.

"Ready to go back in?"

She nodded, smiling just a bit. "Lead the way."

Emboldened by liquor, she grabbed his forearm over his shirt to keep with him through the crowd as he led the way back to their table. Nathan had slid in the booth next to Kelly with a new round of drinks and Curtis held court at the head of the table with Nicki in his lap, leaving the other side of the booth open for Simon and Alisha. Fucking perfect, she thought as she slid in next to him.

Without really meaning to, her bare thigh pressed against his pant-protected leg in the booth under the table. Nathan and Kelly traded loud, malicious barbs at each other for a while; Curtis and Nicki joined in when they weren't busy caressing each other's fingers or smooching shamelessly. She watched them with a resigned longing, which she hoped no one interpreted as ill-harbored feelings left over for Curtis. She envied their ability to communicate through touch, to possess each other with more than just words and looks. She hated them because it seemed they never stopped touching.

It was getting later, and the music in the pub got louder as a bit of dancing broke out on the main floor. Curtis and Nicki hopped up immediately, pounded down their drinks, and beckoned the others to join them for a dance. A now thoroughly drunk Alisha needed no more encouragement – she grabbed Simon by the forearm again to drag him out onto the floor with the group. He followed amicably, though she couldn't tell if it was to be included or to make sure she didn't stab herself with anything sharp again.

Still, in the close quarters of the crowded pub Alisha was in a whole different kind of danger. She threw her arms over her head and shook her body with a desperate sort of abandon, twirling and gyrating to the pounding beat. Her hand accidentally grazed a stranger's arm, and he whirled around to grab both her wrists as his eyes locked on her cleavage. "I want to fuck your tits and cum on that pretty mouth!" he hissed. She whimpered, "Fuck off," and struggled to push him away, but he only squeezed tighter, bruising flesh barely ever touched.

Panic rose like bile in her throat, but before she had time to form an acceptable plan, her would-be attacker was body-checked from the right. Pale hands ripped his off her wrists and she was once again staring, wide-eyed and terrified, into Simon's face.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hands hovering around her bare arms as if to protect her from any other unwanted advances, obviously searching for a way to comfort that didn't involve contact. "No," she choked out, and she ran past him to go outside.

The minute cold air hit her face in the alley alongside the pub, she lost all control. A horrible retching sound ripped from her throat as she vomited up the past two hours' mistakes, mixed with a sob she could no longer hold back. She nearly fell against the side of the building, weakly holding herself up as she leaned over.

In the middle of a second spell of retching, she felt a hand smooth her hair away from her face as another put a soothing hand on her back. She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

She threw her hands up abruptly and Simon had to jump back to avoid her skin. "Get away from me! I don't want you to see me like this!" she rasped, choking and slurring on tears and bile and shame.

"Alisha, just let me make sure you get home safely. You can barely walk." He said, his voice low and reasonable.

"Fuck you, Simon! Stop being so nice to me. I can take care of myself, and I don't fucking want to go home, so piss off!" She straightened, using the wall for support, and attempted to storm away from this boy she loved and hated in equal measure, unbeknownst to him, on wobbly, drunken legs.

The heels she wore proved to be too much for her lacking coordination and suddenly she saw the railing in front of the pub's main entrance rushing up toward her face before she blacked out completely.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She awoke to sunlight assaulting her eyeballs through a window. Her head pounded, her tongue felt like sandpaper, her muscles ached, and her hand stung like hell.

_Oh my God. What did I do?_

Humiliation and her hangover combined to make her feel even worse than she had before she got drunk. _So this is where excessive imbibing gets you. Remind me to change my ways, immediately._

She peeled open first one eye, then the other, prepared to struggle out of bed and sneak down the hall for a mug of coffee and a piss before her parents realized how fucked she was. She jolted fully awake when she realized she had _no idea_ where the fuck she was.

She was lying in a twin-sized bed under a navy duvet. The walls of the small room she was in were grey, and the sunlight that had offended her eyes streamed through a double window to the left of the bed. A row of DVDs lined the window sill; more DVDs were stacked on the tidy desk to her right where a computer screen bore a wallpaper depicting the Wertham Community Centre at sundown, the sky over the lake kissed pink with the setting sun. Four silhouettes were scattered along the path in front of the lake, and she realized with artful appreciation they were Nathan, Curtis, Kelly, and herself.

_I'm in Simon's bedroom. What the hell?_

She barely had time to wonder before Simon himself came through the door, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

"You're awake." He stated. He set the coffee meant for her on the table next to the bed and sat in the desk chair, studying her.

"What the fuck happened last night?" she asked him as she slowly dragged her body into a sitting position, reaching gratefully for her coffee.

"You got sick. Then you fell and nearly cracked your skull on the railing outside the pub. I didn't know where else to take you, I mean, I have no idea where you live, so I brought you here. My parents are gone for the weekend." He explained, and she thought she might never have heard him say so much at one time.

Her eyes dropped to her coffee cup, and she realized with a start she was wearing an unfamiliar grey Tshirt, no bottoms, and suddenly she was beyond humiliated to have woken up hungover and half naked in Simon's bed. She looked up at him imploringly, cheeks burning. His eyes grew wide when he noticed her confusion, and then his cheeks turned the tomato-like color of humiliation that she herself felt.

"I-I'm sorry, you threw up a few more times as I was trying to get you back here – I was struggling to carry you without actually _touching_ you – and I j-just couldn't let you sleep in your own sick. I washed your dress. And I _swear_, I didn't actually look at anything, I-I mean, I just … I was trying to help." He finished, brow furrowed like he was terrified she would be _mad_ at him for saving her and taking her home and changing her and taking care of her.

His gaze found every possible spot to look at except her face. She leaned forward to put her hand on his knee, and he looked directly into her eyes when she said, "Thank you, Simon. I'm sorry I was such a fucking mess."

He shook his head. "You just had a few too many. Nothing we all haven't done." He reassured her.

She smiled ruefully, thinking, _Of course, everyone mourns their dead lover by getting so uncontrollably pissed that their present counterpart must throw mind-controlled attackers across dance floors for them and then hold their hair back while they puke and cry and curse and nearly give themselves a concussion. That's normal for_ **everyone**. She hated herself so completely in that moment it made her shake, though it might have been the coffee or the weak, empty stomach or the worry in his eyes as he stared at her.

He switched his focus, leaning closer to her. "How's your head?" he asked. She grimaced and gingerly prodded the purpled bruise on her forehead. She winced and hissed as she hit a particularly tender spot.

"Fucking fabulous." She joked. He flashed her something between a smirk and a pitying frown.

"Would you –" he halted for a second, obviously unsure. She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled slightly.

"Would you like some pancakes?"

Alisha was suddenly hit with the absolute absurdity of her situation, this totally muddled clusterfuck she seemed to land herself in. She was out-of-her-mind, crazy in love with this strange boy who wore dress pants every day and carried his lunch in a tin Avengers lunchbox like his was still in primary school. In his mind, he was invisible to everyone he cared about, but he had no idea that ever since he traveled back in time and died for her, he was the only thing she could see.

But she knew, in spite of all of that, she had no idea who he was. Why he liked to videotape everything he saw. Why he loved comic books and movies so much. Why, in spite of everything terrible he had seen her do – all of the terrible things she'd done and said to him – he was still going to fall in love with her.

She remembered one of the last things Future Simon had said to her, on the worst day, when she sat with him gathered in her lap as he gasped his last few breaths.

_"It's you falling in love with him. That's what makes him become me."_

Well, she was already in love with him. Now she just needed to get to know him.

_Totally fucking absurd_, she concluded, and the thought made her giggle. Once that first tiny laugh escaped her lips, it felt so good. She hadn't laughed since the worst day, hadn't been able to feel anything besides hopelessness and misery and loneliness. She had finally been able to touch someone, to be touched by them, and his caress had been the gentlest and sweetest thing she had ever felt. Since that had been ripped away, she had felt … irreparable. But looking over at this just as sweet, though more nervous, version of Simon, currently shooting her a quizzical look as her giggles grew into outright, irrational cackling, she felt like maybe everything was not lost for her.

She saw flashes of the Simon who'd stolen her heart in this boy sitting across from her; before now, it had seemed impossible, but she was starting to realize they were, in fact, the same person. Her lover was not gone. She had just gotten a head start and fallen for him before she even learned who he was.

Now it was time for her to truly meet Simon Bellamy.

… who, she realized, stared at her like a terrified deer caught in car headlights as she laughed uncontrollably at him.

_Oh God, what must he be thinking?_

"W-what's so funny?" he finally asked, and she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes.

She shook her head, her sleep-wild curls bouncing around her pale, hungover, bruised face.

"I was just thinking there is nothing I'd love _more_ than some pancakes."

So she made to get out of bed, but before she could throw the covers off, Simon's eyes grew huge again. He leapt up to open the drawer to a black, wooden bureau and withdrew a pair of black sweatpants. He held them out to her carefully, saying in a choked voice, "Here." As soon as she took them, he bolted out of the room. She smirked at this repentant show of protecting her modesty, and then promptly had to remind herself that this Simon had not seen her naked – yet. Though she did sort of feel bad for how embarrassed he was at having to undress her last night.

She promised herself she was not at all fighting the urge to rip of the clothes he'd dressed her in and throw herself on him. After all, that would not work out well for either of them, with her shit power. Right? _Right._ Still, there was temptation in the fact that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it would work…

She put the sweatpants on and checked her reflection in a small mirror above the bureau. _Once again, Alisha, you are at your shining best for the boy of your dreams_, she thought ruefully.

She emerged from his room a few minutes later, with the sweatpants rolled up to her calves and the roomy shirt tied in a knot at her waist, showing just a hint of skin. Simon smiled from his place by the stove, spatula in hand, when he saw her.

"You're the only girl I know who could manage to look that nice with a hangover and massive egg on your head." He joked, but the way he said it made her glow.

"Well, your last impression of me did involve me passed out and covered in sick, yeah?" she said self-deprecatingly.

"Though still lovely." He promised, but he wasn't looking at her this time, eyes attentively focused on their cooking breakfast.

She was encouraged by his boldness, but she didn't want to scare him.

"Where did you sleep?" she instead wondered.

"Out here, on the sofa." He gestured to the living room with his spatula.

"Thank you for letting me kick you out of your own bed." She said sincerely. He only nodded.

He flipped a few of the pancakes on a plate for her and set it down on the kitchen island. She gladly pulled up a seat to dig in, while he stood across from her with a plate of his own, studying her.

They remained like that, her shoveling down pancakes and him chewing methodically as he considered something, for a few long moments.

Finally, he spoke.

"Last night, when I followed you outside the pub, you told me to stop being so nice to you. And you said you didn't want me to see you like that."

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. _God, I hope I didn't say much more than that…_

"I remember." She confirmed.

_Shit, those goddamned blue eyes aren't looking away this time, and I could very well tell him everything right now if he doesn't stop fucking looking at me like that…_

"Why?" he asked simply.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, releasing herself from the power of his stare, and shrugged one shoulder.

"When we first got community service," she began, "I was such a bitch to you. I mean, none of us were very nice to you, b-but I definitely tried to make you feel unwelcome. But you've been a good friend to us, Simon, and you didn't deserve that. You're not the freak you seem to think you are. I think you're … nice." _Alisha, you're such an idiot. NICE? A nearly infinite number of words in the Queen's goddamned fucking English, and "nice" is honestly the BEST you can do?_

But Simon didn't say a word; he just continued to look at her, and the unblinking way he did it made her feel like he could see all of the wells of misery and devotion for him she had locked away in her soul. _So fucking poetic._

"I guess I want a chance to make it up to you." She added.

Simon shook his head. "No, Alisha, there's nothing to make up." He insisted.

She squared her shoulders and gazed directly at him, meeting his uncanny stare with her own.

"Then I want a chance to be your friend. For real." She said.

The grin that spread on his face made her heart squeeze in her chest, joy and sorrow in equal measure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Community service came much too quickly for Alisha that day. After leaving Simon's house, she'd barely had enough time to get back to Future Simon's flat, change, attempt to cover her fancy new bruise with some make-up, and flash a triumphant smile in the direction of the photograph of the two of them in Las Vegas before she was racing out the door to return to Wertham Community Centre. _How did my whole life start to revolve around Simon Bellamy?_

She opened the huge, heavy door and came face-to-face with Nathan and Kelly, lounging around the hallway still in their street clothes. _Oh, bugger_.

"Where da fook did you run off ta last nigh'?" Kelly began, any attempt at pleasantries entirely unheard of. As usual, though Alisha liked the girl well enough, it would take her a few sentences into a conversation before she would understand Kelly's Chav accent without a struggle.

"Yeah," Nathan chimed in, "You got a bit whorey and excited before you and Simon just fucking vanished! Don't think we didn't notice you two horny toads dash off at the same time!"

"Seriously, you fucking wanker? Nobody can touch me without becoming a would-be rapist. I just got out of there before shit got worse. I don't even _know_ where Simon was last night." Alisha lied instantly.

"What about where I was last night?" the loner in question asked as he appeared at her left shoulder. Alisha shot him a sideways glance. "Kelly and Nathan have discovered the secret of our passionate love affair." She informed him flatly. He kinked one eyebrow with that half-smile that was starting to drive her insane. "Ah," he replied.

"Oh, fuck you both, we're all late for community service anyway." Nathan gave up with a dismissive wave of his hand as he headed for the locker room. Alisha smiled back at Simon before they all followed behind him.

Curtis was already getting changed into his orange jumpsuit, tied at the hips of course, rather than worn correctly. Alisha crossed the room to her locker and tried not to stare at a pale, skinny reflection in the mirror as he stripped off his shirt. Sure, present Simon had some work to do before his arms and chest matched his future counterpart, but the grace and flawlessness of his skin were already present. She couldn't help thinking wicked thoughts as she unbuttoned her top.

She bent down to pull the awful orange jumpsuit up her legs and then halted at the waist when she looked up and realized Simon's eyes had met hers in the mirror. Physically, he was behind her at the opposite row of lockers, but the large mirror on the wall meant they could each see each other clearly without any of their friends even realizing their eyes were locked on each other. She saw his eyes gaze appreciatively at her bare abdomen, shoulders, and arms, flicking distractedly over her red, lacy bra. His eyes were still shockingly (though not exactly innocently) wide and his mouth didn't give away any of his thoughts. She felt her skin heat up as both of their gazes lingered.

Kelly slammed her locker and Alisha jumped; Simon's hurriedly averted his eyes and nearly buried his head in the locker. _Damn it._

Glumly, Alisha pulled her arms through the sleeves of her jumpsuit, zipped the awful thing up to her cleavage, and then belted it with a turquoise leather belt. She had just sat down to slip on her trainers when Curtis let out a loud gasp and dropped his deodorant on the floor.

He felt back against the lockers, clutching his chest and breathing hard, eyes fluttering around the room to meet all their faces.

"Alive … alive. You're all okay." He whispered.

"There's something we have to do."

The other four exchanged baffled glances. They moved toward Curtis slowly, like he was a wild animal that could pounce at any second. As usually, Nathan spoke first.

"What've we got to do, mate?" he asked.

But Curtis didn't answer, the shock of whatever had just happened still making him wild-eyed. He faced Alisha, closest to his right.

"They found out about us." He said.

"They who?"

"We were famous." He added, turning to Kelly.

"Fooking famous?"

"Nathan shot himself on live T.V., and there was a little twat who could control –" he grimaced as he continued, " – MILK!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Nathan shouted.

"And he killed all of you." He finished, and they all fell silent.

Alisha couldn't help thinking to herself, _That all sounds impossible._ But that seemed to be the turn her life had taken.

Finally, Curtis continued one of weirdest stories they would ever hear. "He was the first to go public, this kid who could control dairy products, and he killed you guys because he wasn't getting any attention after that fucking probation worker sold us out, and everyone knew about us. We were all making a shitload of money, living in a hotel with our publicist. Well, all except Simon." He looked at Simon, whose expression had barely changed. "You went into hiding to protect your identity. But you showed up at the hotel in the end. The milk guy killed Kelly first and took Alisha hostage. Nathan and Nicki and I were going to come rescue Alisha, but Nicki transported there first and he killed both you girls by strangling you with cheese from a pizza we'd eaten." Curtis squeezed his eyes shut for a second, reliving memories none of the rest of them had experienced.

"But what about me? I'm fucking invicible!" Nathan reminded them.

Curtis scoffed. "Yeah, mate, and he turned you into a fucking vegetable."

Curtis' eyes found Simon again. "That's when you turned up, or maybe you'd been there the whole time. You had already seen them all dead, you – you were like a man on a suicide mission. I was facing off with the milk kid; he couldn't control me because I'm lactose-intolerant, yeah? He went to stab me and it was like he got stopped by the _air_, only then you turned visible again and I realized you'd stepped in front of the knife to save me. You told me to reverse time to save everyone." The tone of his voice during the last bit was one of respect and gratitude. Everyone turned to look at Simon in unison. Alisha was once again hit with pride for the boy she was in love with, who she hoped one day soon would love her in return. She knew he liked her enough to not want her to be dead, which was a start.

Rather than dwell on his apparent heroism, Simon's eyes were trained on Curtis' face. "So what do we have to do?"

"We've got to kill that fucking lacto-kinetic ponce."

**So, I have a little proposition for you. As a Misfits fan, I was disappointed that between the episode I alluded to in this chapter (where Simon finds out about Superhoodie and then time is promptly turned back) and the Christmas special, we never _really_ know how he finds out about his fate or how his relationship with Alisha develops. (Mostly, this is the reason I'm writing this little piece.) So if you feel so inclined, I would love if you left me a review to tell me how YOU imagined Simon finding out about his future self, or even any moment you imagined the audience missed out on as Simon and Alisha's relationship developed on the show. Because let's face it, by the time the Christmas episode rolled around, they're shacked up together and hyper-sexually frustrated at the lack of bounce-bounce going on in their relationship. I'm writing to appease my own need to fill in that gap, but I'd love to hear some other fans thoughts on it, too. Perhaps you'll inspire my next chapter. :) Alternately, if you know of a great fanfic that answers those questions, I'd appreciate a little hook-up with the link to the story. Thanks, fictionfriends!**


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